Honey Monster NoNo
by PineappleGrenade
Summary: You all know what incident I'm referring to.. that advert bearing a certain resemblance to a style known as crimping. This is a fic about how the Boosh boys deal with the thievery. No offence intended to anyone, this is just written for fun. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Boosh fic, so good luck to you people reading it. XD I don't own anything of course, and absolutely no disrespect or libel is intended towards the thieving Honey Monster, I promise.. cross my heart.. just don't sue me.**

Howard Moon, proprietor and top salesman of the Nabootique, scowled down at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, willing the words he wanted to write to appear. With his literary talent of novelistic prowess it should have been easy. But it wasn't. Carefully he went over the words in his head again, sounding them out silently in the hope of finding perfection. Nothing.

Maybe it was the colour of pen that was spoiling everything. He glanced down at it. Of course, a darker shade of red was definitely needed for the task at hand. He reached for a home-made jazz pencil case, the one that contained the pens all shades of red right through the spectrum, and it was a surprisingly versatile spectrum with a wide range of moods and feeling thank you sir, red's a powerful colour. Capable of expressing-

Thankfully, the door opened with a little musical sound at that moment, diverting Howard from any further musings on the red spectrum. Trying to conceal a startled jump, he kept his eyes on the range of pens in his just opened pencil case.

"This is a rather busy time sir, if you'd like to come back later," he announced tensely.

"Howard, it's me."

It came back to the moustachioed man in a rush that he had sent Vince out for some lunch at least an hour ago. He repeated this revelation out loud to the inconsistent electrogoth, who merely gave an empty handed shrug.

"There was a sale on at Topshop, I forgot all about – What are you doing with your eyes?"

"I'm scowling sir. Narrowing them in a scowl of anger at you."

Vince laughed in an understanding way that only made his jazz-obsessed friend even more angered.

"Come here, there's something you need to see."

The laughter stopped abruptly and was replaced with a defensive pout. "It's not a new filing system for the rubbers is it? You showed me that yesterday; I don't want to see it again."

Howard sighed and jabbed a finger at the television resting on the counter in response, making the contraption splutter into life. Both men stared in horror as a seaweed-haired half-man, half-fish pranced onto the screen.

"Hello Howard, my little fuzzy man-love peach," the snazzily dressed seamonster inside the television crooned, waggling the fingers of a webbed hand in a coy wave. "Here's the video you asked me for…"

"That's the wrong – It's the wrong – I don't know how…" Howard forced an embarrassed laugh, quickly leaning forwards to frantically press the buttons on the TV, ignoring the bemused and horrified stare his friend was directing at the back of his head. "This is the one…"

The picture on screen mercifully changed to an advertisement for a certain popular breakfast cereal mascoted by a certain huge fluffy yellow monster. A certain huge fluffy yellow monster that was advertising its certain popular breakfast cereal with a certain music genre. That was for certain.

"Sound familiar to you?"

"That's…" Vince stared, transfixed, at the screen. Suddenly he dropped into a defensive crouch (no mean feat in skin tight silver skinny jeans) and waved his hands in a vaguely menacing manner at the threat to originality chanting on the screen. "He's stolen our crimping! When did you let him in without telling me during one of our night time crimps?" Eyes widening, the man's hand suddenly flew up to his root-boosted barnet. "Was it that night I couldn't get the straighteners working?"

Howard shook his head irritably. "I've never let him in. He must have been at the Velvet Onion the night of the Crimp Off."

Everything suddenly started going wavery, slinking with ordered erratic-ness from left to right as twinkling music pervaded the atmosphere of the shop. Shaken around like paper dolls, the two men clutched for dear life at whatever nailed down object happened to be closest.

"What's happening?" Howard shouted in a panic over the strange tinkling noises.

"You said 'the night of…' you've started a flashback!"

"But we don't have time for a flashback!" He stared wildly around for the source of the time-meddling disturbance. "Stop! Stop!"

"It's too late now!"

And so it was. The two men were forced to endure a rapid succession of clips showing their crimping face off with the Flighty Zeus that ended with the Mighty Boosh's final triumph. Interspersed with those familiar scenes were new ones of a certain yellow cereal muncher badly disguised in a balaclava laughing evilly as it slunk, unnoticed from the Velvet Onion, a voice recording device clutched in one furry hand. The flashback concluded with the two Boosh boys sitting together, sharing a magazine bearing their faces on the cover.

"_Where can you go with crimping?"_

"_Where _can't _you go?"_

"…_Where _can_ you go?"_

The flashback ended and everything went back to present time, present place, present problem.

"Right into a lawsuit with a cereal monster," Howard sighed in answer to the flashback's question.

Vince didn't seem to have heard. Overcome with the despairing emotions that had nearly destroyed him when the original crimping copycat had appeared on the scene, he sank down onto a chair and put his stylish head in his hands. "I can't do it again Howard; I can't do another crimp off to defend us."

The jazz musician novel-writing shopkeeper eyed his friend in concern. "Hey, that's not the spirit," he soothed uncertainly. "It's not like you. We can sort this out together, without another crimp off. Look, I'm writing an angry letter in burgundy… or maybe puce… I haven't decided yet." He held up the blank sheet of paper for appraisal, but it was ignored.

"Come on young man, we need to fight this."

"No, I can't do it anymore. There's no point."

Although this statement greatly saddened Howard, he couldn't help but see the logic in it. Their image and self-styled musical genre seemed to have been under attack a lot lately. Maybe it was time they let the masses carry it forwards themselves, leaving the creators behind in the dust, forgotten and unwanted.

"No!" He shook himself out of the pessimistic thoughts that had dogged his whole life, slamming a decisive fist down on the counter. "Ow!" He cradled the injured hand to his chest, battling on with his mini-speech nonetheless. "There's always a point."

"We've got to face it Howard, we're over. I've lost my Crimp Juju." Vince sighed and dropped his hands to the arms of the chair, turning away to stare despondently out of the window. The day was sunny, too sunny to allow for a good gloomy effect, so he moved into a little patch of shadow instead. There, that was the perfect dramatic pose of a beaten man, broken inside, his will to crimp gone.

Suddenly Howard's hand was there on his shoulder, a comforting presence even if it was badly dressed. "We can't become another Joey Trombone. I won't let that happen, sir."

"Who's Joey Trombone?"

"It's a long story."

Vince turned away grumpily, sulking into the side of the chair. "I'm not in the mood for a story."

"A long time ago there was a man named Joey Trombone. He was a good man, a strong man. All the girls loved him and all the men would chase him for giving his phone number to their girlfriends, and when they caught up with him they would jump on his distinctively trombone-shaped head, but he never gave up, Joey Trombone wasn't a quitter.

"One day he was at the park, trying to catch pigeons for a romantic candle lit dinner with the Mayor of London's wife when a spaceship appeared to him. The spaceship gave him a box, a small box all wrapped around with yellow police caution tape. Joey Trombone opened the box and inside was a brass key on a popcorn link gold chain that was very popular at that time, he looked up to ask what the key was for but the spaceship had disappeared. From that day on, he dedicated his life to finding out what that key was for. He tried every door, every greenhouse and every ice cream van in all the land, but it opened none of them. He eventually died alone and bitter in a cave from exposure out in the wilderness, but the important thing is that he never gave up."


	2. Chapter 2

Howard ended the story on a note of pride, puffing his chest out as he awaited Vince's response. There was none. He looked down. The sunshiney electrogoth had fallen asleep. Angrily, he shook his friend awake.

"What? Is the story finished?"

"It finished a long time ago; you've been asleep for hours."

"Oh, cool. How did it end then?"

"Not in any way that concerns you, young man."

Vince blinked, and then all the concerns that had melted away with his short nap came flooding back. He buried his face in his hands once again, muffling into his palms "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to get the crimp back."

"We can't, my Juju's gone, I'll never get it back." The darker haired man lifted his face and stared profoundly off into an unknown distance.

"That's where you're wrong," Howard smiled cryptically. He reached down beneath his muffin-coloured shirt with a hint of nutmeg and pulled out an old, worn key on a popcorn link chain. "We've got this." He brandished it importantly at his friend.

Vince jumped up in one easy motion and snatched the key from the other man's hand, pulling it closer and nearly strangling the wearer in the process. Howard choked in feeble protest as the necklace chain was turned over in Vince's hands as he inspected it with admiration.

"I haven't seen one of these in ages; they must have gone out of fashion years ago. This is so retro. Where did you find it?"

Finally managing to disengage himself from the other man's grasp, Howard stood and straightened out his rumpled shirt, smoothing it down fastidiously. "This isn't 'so retro' little man; it's the key to all our problems. Joey Trombone gave it to me."

The electrogoth rolled his eyes. "What is it with you and Joey Trombone?"

"He was a good man, Vince, a strong man, he never gave up."

Vince pulled a face, his interest in the little trinket already wavering. "I don't see how that's going to help us. We're about to lose everything and all you've got is that stupid key."

No sooner than the words were out of the young peacock-man's mouth there was a hefty clap of thunder, the shop being thrown into sudden relief by a flash of lightning that was very inexplicable on this fine, sunny day. Vaguely used to such strange happenings by now, the two men stared around for the source of the disturbance.

They found it standing in the doorway with a leer on its horribly familiar green face.

"Don't wee on me!" Howard yowled in startled terror, launching himself behind the counter to crouch there, quivering slightly.

"Alright," the other man grinned at the intruder with a little nod, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Alright," the Hitcher nodded back, for he was the one who had entered so dramatically. "Jellied eel, boy?" He started to reach into his dark overcoat when a pained expression passed over his face, causing him to correct his old-fashioned faux paus. "I mean, gummy snake?" He amended, withdrawing the updated and twice as popular version of his old treat jellied eels.

"Get that down your noise-maker," he advised with a smile of pure evil.

"Thanks," Vince said as he did just that. He was never one to pass up the offer of a gummy snake.

"I heard tell you were in a bit of trouble, boy," the green-tinted Cockney announced slyly, glancing over to the counter Howard was still hidden behind. "And I've come to help you out; just you tell Uncle Hitcher all about it."

A time lapse ensued whilst Vince told of the troubles with the crimp-stealing monster and coaxed his friend back out into the shop, where their visitor delighted in pulling faces at the man to make him quake. He was pure evil after all.

"…And now all we've got to help get my Crimping Juju back is this stupid key," the electrogoth concluded. Once again there was an ominous rumble of thunder and crackle of mysterious lightning, this time for an audience of three.

The Hitcher held up his hands in an innocent gesture as two pairs of eyes came to rest accusingly on him. "Not me, boy, I've got nothing to do with it. It sounds to me like you've got some bad Juju floating around in that key of yours, and if there's anything I know anything about – it's Juju… and jellied eels. Would you like a jellied eel, boy?" He thrust the paper bag of gummy snakes at Howard, who promptly disappeared into hiding again with a wail of fear. This made him burst out in a short barking laugh, which he concluded with "I'm evil!" in case anyone had forgotten.

"So you can help us?"

"I wouldn't usually, but you showed me the way to a new life, and I think it's time I returned the favour. With my help we'll work out the secrets of the key and get your Crimping back, but only if you promise to give me all the Euros you get from the big yellow monster when you sue him."

Vince shrugged contentedly – it sounded like a fair enough deal.

The room's lighting faded a little as the three men huddled in a circle to discuss their plans, their faces lit importantly from below as they exchanged meaningful eye looks. The exchanged glances became faster and faster until the Hitcher's eye tendons were put under so much strain that his left eye fell out, much to Vince's disgust. It was decided after that incident that they should just discuss it sensibly over a nice cup of tea and a round of Mrs Lovett's meat pies, which were strongly recommended by the Cockney visitor.

To get the Juju back and unlock the secrets of the key they would have to travel to the final resting place of Joey Trombone – luckily this was a cave in the local park so it would only take a twenty minute bus journey on the Number 2 to get there.

Just before they went, whilst Howard was getting together a little survival pack to take with him just in case, he was approached by Vince.

"Howard, I want to wear the key, it will look great with my new shirt." With a flourish, he held up the frilly red number he was planning to change into.

"No way little man, this is the key to all our problems so I think it would be safer with me." The jazz musician patted the bulge in his shirt beneath which the key rested.

Vince pulled a face. "You _always_ get to look after the important things. Don't you trust me?"

"No."

"Why not?" Came the immediate demand as the insulted man arranged himself in a suitably insulted way, one hip jutting to the side as he placed his hands on either side of his waist. He glanced down and decided it would look more of an angry insulted if he jutted the other hip, so adjusted himself accordingly.

He was decidedly glared at, although with the size of Howard's eyes it was difficult to tell. "Remember when we were at school?"

Sensing a lecture coming on, Vince turned his head and looked away in an aloof manner, ignoring the question.

Howard continued, regardless. "All I ever wanted my whole entire life was to see the first ever jazz piano that the first ever jazz musician played on, that was my dream, and every man has to have a dream, Vince. One day I got tickets to see that piano, two tickets, and I gave them to you to look after until the big day. Because I _trusted_ you, I trusted you not to lose the thing that was most important to me. And what did you do?"

The accused one looked a little crestfallen at this and had to admit that he had lost the tickets. In fact, he had traded them for a stripy scarf. "But how was I to know they'd be out of fashion in a day?" he protested in his defence.

"Yeah, I think I'll be looking after the key."

"But look at the colour of your top! It will clash and make you look like an old paint palette where all the paints have dried up and gone that funny colour, that when you go to scrape it off you just throw it away because it looks a bit like cat puke."

"There are things that are more important than looks, Vince."

The profound discussion was interrupted with an impatient shout of "What are you two nancys doing back there? The bus will be 'ere soon!"

With a final severe look at his friend, Howard picked up his survival pack, slung it over one shoulder and left for the front of the shop. As he did so, Vince noticed a little glint of gold and brass from Howard's pocket where he had stuffed the key, perhaps barbed by the clashing colours insult. As slick as any ragamuffin pickpocket, Vince carefully lifted the chain without being noticed and fastened it around his own neck.


	3. Chapter 3

The bus was late, because buses always are, so it took a little longer than anticipated to reach the fabled resting place of Joey Trombone's body. It had been an awkward ride, especially for the Hitcher as his image still hadn't been updated much and he'd attracted some rather odd looks on the bus. But none of that mattered now, because here they were, outside the cave in the park.

The park was sunny as was the weather, and the sounds of children at play drifted pleasantly on the warm breeze. However, the closer the three pilgrims got to the cave, the chillier the air got and the deader the silence until they could almost believe they had entered a different planet altogether. A lightning crack went off unexpectedly, making them all jump and glance about nervously.

Affecting a laugh to hide his discomfort, the Hitcher ploughed on ahead in to the cave, shouting for his followers to keep up. Nervously, Howard and Vince exchanged looks before doing as they were told.

"Here it is, Joey Trombone's grave," the green Cockney leered, pointing to something on the dank, cold floor. There was silence except for the dripping of unseen water as they two other men crowded closer for a look.

"There's nothing there!" Vince protested.

And he was right, or so it appeared at first. On initial inspection it seemed as if all that remained of the key-holder was a small puddle of lime green goo, which on a closer look turned out to be faintly glowing moss. But if one followed the glow of the moss, the eye fell on the dimly silhouetted form of a particular musical instrument – a trombone, with a scarf wrapped around it - a stripy scarf (coincidence!) that had been intended to keep out the cold and had failed miserably.

"Joey Trombone's skull…" Howard breathed in awe, going down on one knee beside it and laying a reverent hand on its side.

"There 'e is, boy, there 'e is," the Hitcher grinned, giving it a rather irreverent nudge with the tip of his walking cane. "Now all you need to do is unlock it and find the Juju hidden away inside his woodwind cranium."

Howard looked up quickly. "It's not a woodwind instrument; it's actually a member of the brass family."

"Do you want me to piss on your brass family? Hurry up boy, or I'll set my gummy snakes on you."

"Yes sir, thank you sir," was the fearful whimper of a reply. The jazz genius reached under his shirt to retrieve the key, only to find the precious item missing. Jaw dropping a little in surprise, he stood up and turned out both his pockets then turned out his survival pack on the floor of the cave. The key was nowhere to be found.

An ominous silence descended to be suddenly broken with Vince's revelatory "Oh!" as he remembered he had taken the key and its coveted popcorn link chain earlier. "Don't worry, I've got it right here," he smiled confidently, a hand going to his throat to unfasten the chain. Just like his friend before him, he found that it had gone.

"You took it!" Howard accused with wild anger. "You took it and you lost it! Now we'll never bring that Honey Monster to justice! This is all your fault, I don't think I'll ever be able to speak to you again."

"Alright, calm down," Vince sulked vocally to hide his hurt at being blamed. "It must have fallen off on the way; I'll go back and look for it."

He turned to leave, but the Hitcher caught him by the elbow and pulled him back. "It doesn't matter lad, I've got a little secret to tell you. That key didn't contain any Juju magic at all; it was all an elaborate ruse to help you get your crimping confidence back. The last half hour of your life was just wasted, I'm pure evil!"

There was a double chorus of startled and angry "What?"s.

"You heard me, now 'op along and bring justice into the world. All you'll ever need to overcome your fear is here, inside." He reached out and laid a hand on Vince's chest, only to have it slapped away.

"Stop trying to nick my Euros!"

"Sorry boy, old habits die hard. Good luck to the both of you, and remember my promise." The deceitful, but quite possibly kind-hearted Cockney began to turn away, but then an idea struck him and he turned back for one final piece of advice. "There may not be magic in that key, but take Joey Trombone's skull with you, it might come in handy." With a click of his heels that shouldn't have been possible for one of his great age, he hobbled off singing quietly to himself "_I'm a Cockney geezer, watch me bleed ya, I knew the ripper when he was…_" The sound died in a clap of thunder and lightning that erased him from sight.

Vince looked to Howard, the previous squabble of only a few seconds ago forgotten amongst the multitude of unforgivable others. "What do we do now?"

"Just what he said, sir," Was the grinning reply, as Howard hefted Joey Trombone's dust-covered skull from the floor and slung it expertly over one shoulder. "We're going to go and get justice!"


	4. Chapter 4

**I'd like to apologise to all in advance for the horrendous attempt at a master crimp that is to appear in the following chapter. I am very sorry, oh so very sorry.. I hope it doesn't ruin the experience too much for anyone...**

Three hours had passed. It was raining heavily by now, and Vince and Howard were still standing outside the studios where the Honey Monster lived and filmed his pilfering adverts. They'd attempted to charm the secretary, bully producers and security men alike and had shouted themselves hoarse in demands for access to the big yellow thief, but all to no avail.

The jazz maverick carefully set down the musical skull he was carrying and wiped rain water from his eyes, spitting out the swimming pool sized amount that had dripped into his mouth from his moustache. A little tropical Nemo-fish came out in the spray and flopped haplessly about in a puddle on the pavement.

Vince kindly picked the fish up and dropped it into the small lake that had formed inside the remains of Joey Trombone's fabled head. "Why don't we just give it up, Howard? They're never going to let us in."

"Giving up is not my style. I'm Howard Moon, I don't give up. We've got to bring the yellow-faced corporations to justice, we've got to do it for the little men, Vince, the ones that are too small to stick up for themselves."

"Alright, well you can do it on your own, I'm going home. It's going to take me hours to sort my hair out. Do you know what rainwater does to it?"

"Come back, you'll regret this for the rest of your life!" Howard yelled at the other man's retreating back. "If not for us, do it for the crimp!"

The heavy rain obscured the view of his friend. The last protector of the crimp threw back his head and wailed a mournful "Nooooo(recurring)" up into the pouring heavens.

"What are you doing?"

"Vince! You came back!"

"Of course I did, I only went to go get us a couple of umbrellas. I got them both for a fiver, how cool is that? And they've got little crocodiles on." Smiling proudly, he handed over one of the umbrellas.

"Oh," Howard spoke up sheepishly, accepting it, even though umbrellas with little crocodiles – actually, from the looks of them they appeared to in fact be alligators – were not really his style.

"I've had an idea, about how to get them out here and talking to us," the electrogoth mused after a while, almost to himself. He received a sharply expectant look from his friend. "We've got to crimp them out of hiding."

"But Vince, you said you've lost your Crimping Juju! You said you'd never crimp again!"

There was an introspective nod. "I know, but things have changed Howard. Something inside me has changed. I've realised we've got something worth fighting for now, and like that old Cockney said, I never lost the Juju, it was inside me all along."

In a rush of relief and gratitude, Howard embraced his friend and was hugged in return. After a couple of seconds they quickly broke away, brushing themselves down and gruffly muttering manly encouraging things before shaking hands.

"Ready, little man?"

"Ready."

And so they crimped, they crimped like that had never crimped before. They crimped in a way that made the winning four-way crimp that night at the Velvet Onion look like a soggy Cornflake, even though it hadn't been a soggy cornflake at all – it had been a hardcore music revolution.

"_Stealing, stealing, stealing is a no-no,_

_Lock up in the Monopoly Jail,_

_Oh no I lost Euston Hotel,_

_Shoe, shoe,_

_Better than the little dog, oh!_

_Law suitio, mercutio, in the little hotelio,_

_Sue, sue,_

_Law suitio, mercutio, in the little hotelio,_

_Shakespeare, shacked up,_

_To be or not to be, oh!_

_Honey Monster, no-no_

_Get backio! Backio!_

On impulse, as the crimp drew to a close, Howard seized up the trombone skull of Joey Trombone and began to play. He played like a wild man, like he was possessed. The little Nemo-fish went in to orbit once more, this time disappearing over the horizon never to be seen again, except when it turned up later in an old Nana's fish and chip supper.

The crimp, combining with the ancient power locked up inside the musical skull forged together in a powerful explosion of creativity, unleashing justice upon the cold, grey building that housed the thieving monster within. The rain stopped suddenly, the sun bursting forth from the clouds to shine down upon the two chosen ones, drying up all the rain just like in that old nursery rhyme about an infamous spider.

Amidst the blooming of this miracle, Howard slowly lowered the instrument from his lips and stared into Vince's astonished eyes.

"What was that?" His friend breathed, rather awed by the whole experience.

"That's the power of the crimp, sir," Howard grinned back.

The 'moment' was interrupted by the Honey Monster bursting out of the glass doors of the building the two men had been trying to get into for the past God knows how long.

"What's going on?" The yellow creature roared in its terrifyingly deep voice, the fur around its usually kindly brown eyes bristling in anger.

Howard and Vince straightened up into superhero stances, sharing a melodramatic look of strength and triumph.

"We've come to take you to the cleaners, sir."

"Yeah, that's ri- Howard! He's getting away!"

There were a few seconds of dumbfounded non-action as the furry thief began his surprisingly fast, but lumbering getaway.

Finally getting his reactions in order, Howard unleashed a final blast on the legendary trombone. The little bit that comes out to change the sound of the different notes just about managed to strike the Honey Monster in the back of the head, knocking him flat onto his face on the pavement.

"I give up," the monster growled into the old chewing gum and concrete. "I give up, take your lawsuit money and leave me alone. I'm no match for the true creators of the crimp! I promise I'll never steal anything without permission and large royalty payments ever again, just don't unleash the Crimping Juju on me again!"

A crack team of lawyers instantly appeared on the scene, bearing official looking contracts that both parties were required to sign. The Honey Monster promised never to steal again, and all money from the increased sales was to be handed over to Howard and Vince. All was well in the Boosh universe once again. Even the Hitcher didn't turn up to demand all the Euros from the contract in payment for his help, as he had recently landed a major movie deal in Hollywood and didn't have the time for chasing up old debts.

So, as the old saying goes, everyone lived happily ever after… at least until crisis struck the following Tuesday, when one of Naboo's spells backfired and ripped a hole in the fabric of the space-time continuum, unleashing an evil pizza-maker with plans for world domination upon the Nabbotique and the immediate surrounding area. But that, as they say, is a whole other story.


End file.
